


Ineffable

by madeinessos



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, Robert's Rebellion Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 15:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madeinessos/pseuds/madeinessos
Summary: Ned had only wanted iced drinks to save his soul from the utter hell that was southron summer, yet somehow here he was, sitting on a pavement in King’s Landing and getting dating advice from Cersei Lannister.In which Ned and Cersei are reluctant friends.





	Ineffable

**Author's Note:**

> _She put her hand on his good leg, just above the knee. "A true man does what he will, not what he must." Her fingers brushed lightly against his thigh, the gentlest of promises._
> 
>  
> 
> _\- Eddard XII, A Game of Thrones_

Ned gaped at Cersei Lannister’s hand on his knee, and blurted out, “I’m not doing that.”

“You are useless,” was her verdict, before sipping black coffee from her large paper cup. The late summer breeze stirred her mane, curled and golden and absolutely imposing and no doubt made her even taller than him. Ned thought that Cersei Lannister would remove her hand from his knee to tuck a stray lock behind her ear.

But no.

Cersei Lannister’s thumb started rubbing circles on the side of his knee, small, tight, purposeful circles. Her ruby and gold ring sneered up at him. The pavement was suddenly overheating his bum. Ned clutched at his iced black coffee, and stared into the void.

Ned had only wanted iced drinks to save his soul from the utter hell that was southron summer, yet somehow here he was, sitting on a pavement in King’s Landing and getting dating advice from Cersei Lannister.

“I’m not doing that,” Ned repeated. He was starting to regret not dashing off when he’d seen Cersei Lannister sitting on the pavement in front of the coffee shop, the cool champagne lights from Moon Boy’s Brew skimming the red satin of her blouse. “It’s too – it’s too forward.”

“How else are you going to get into her knickers?” Cersei Lannister demanded. “Hopeless, hopeless – and who drinks iced coffee anyway?”

Ned scowled at her. He hugged his medium cup of iced black coffee to his chest. “It’s hot in this city, all right? Very hot. Infernally hot.”

“It is hot, but not infernally so.” Cersei Lannister shot a look of derision on his iced coffee. “You are quite the drama queen, aren’t you? And here I was thinking you only have a single expression. Would you like to know what?”

Ned wondered if he should bother.

Cersei Lannister didn’t wait for him to finish wondering. “Flat,” she said, with a smug little smile. “You always look flat. Bored. Dull.”

“I thought it was only a single expression?”

A beat. 

There was a sharp green gleam in Cersei Lannister’s eyes. She looked like she wanted to pinch his ear. Or scoop out his eyes with a spoon.

Then Cersei Lannister shook her head. “Hopeless, hopeless.”

This iced drink was a well of hope, thank you very much. 

Ned took a sip and ignored her.

“And pay attention,” Cersei Lannister snapped, “I do not give advice like this to just anybody.”

“What do you – do you even know how to –”

“If pulling girls is what you are –”

“No,” Ned ground out. “I want to date a girl.” A cold hard pebble shook in his gut. He looked over his shoulder, at the legs of the café tables and at the legs of passersby, ridiculously furtive as if Brandon would just saunter out of the crowd. 

“Actually, no.” Ned amended. “I don’t. Because that would be bad, in this case, and selfish and so horrible because –”

“By the Seven, do shut up.”

Cersei Lannister finally removed her hand from his knee. She probably didn’t know that before this, Ned had been a hand-on-the-knee virgin. He had no intention to enlighten her, though, so he just sipped from his iced coffee, his only friend.

“I have pulled a girl once,” she declared, “if that is what you are asking.”

“It’s not,” Ned assured her. By the old gods, she was as annoying as her twin, who had kept cornering Ned in the party last night and had droned on and on about sports. Ned liked sports just fine, but he was more of a telly person. 

His parents and siblings were the athletic types, always looking forward to a hike in the wolfswood or to other horrifyingly energetic activities. Ned did like joining in those activities but he saw them as a chance to be with his family and friends. They, however, liked to do those activities even with other people, even with strangers.

What Ned liked was listening to Old Nan’s stories, as he hugged his knees and felt toasty by the fireplace in her tower room. He also liked poking around the castle library and the internet for the historical facts behind her stories. Ned liked to read, or walk around Winterfell, sometimes ride out briefly to Winter Town. But mostly, he liked to read and to watch telly.

Lyanna always teased him that those were the reasons why he wasn’t as tall as the rest of the family, all just a hair’s breadth from six feet. And Ned would just smile at her and ruffle her hair and tell her that since his family and his best mate Robert were very tall anyway, Ned was just doing his duty as the variety.

“Don’t tease, Lyanna,” Mother always said whenever she was around to hear it, as if Ned was the younger sibling.

Ned didn’t mind Mother’s doting. He loved her, and she loved him. Mother always bought Ned books and DVD box sets and movie tickets, or gave him enough money to buy for himself when he was in the Vale. Mother liked to read, too, and it had been her personal shelves stuffed full of books that Ned first read as a child. He’d read about criminal trials, wild romances, children of the forest conspiracies, and awful rape before he got to the children’s books in Winterfell’s library. Often, even if it was not his name day, Mother would wake him with a kiss on his forehead and a book by his pillow and say, “I’ve got a new book for you, sweet one.” And Ned would sit up immediately and thank her and sniff at the crisp new pages.

It was partly because of love of reading that Ned’s whole family was now in King’s Landing.

Apparently the queen had read one of Mother’s books, enjoyed it so much that she had written to Mother, and they had been writing to each other ever since. 

One breakfast, Mother had read out, her brisk tones warmed by her small smile: “My dear Lyarra. How are you this fine summer moon? I pray you have enjoyed some hunting whilst the season permits it. I received the advanced copy of your new book, and words cannot properly do justice the soaring of my heart when I read your dedication. To dear R, you wrote. It gladdens me so. I was sitting by the gardens that moment I read it, taking my tea, and when I looked up at the afternoon sun, it was as if I was looking through honey, sweet and summer-bright. I pray you would join me for my name day feast the next moon’s turn, so that I can finally meet you and your sweet family and enjoy your company as I have enjoyed your books and your correspondence.”

“Oh, how fancy, Lyarra,” Father had said, as he leaned against Mother’s shoulder and poured her another cupful of tea. There was a small smile on his face, matching the one on Mother’s. “Which book is Her Grace talking about?”

“The one about two sisters locking up their father in the attic.”

“I loved that,” Father had said, an intense look settling in his eyes. He’d still been holding the teapot.

Mother had turned to him, an equally intense look on her face as she slowly folded the letter. “Let’s have a hunt later, the two of us.”

Brandon had made gagging sounds into his porridge, and Lyanna had groaned and started singing about rabbits. Benjen had been intent on his honey cakes, whilst Ned had sat there, watching and smiling. He’d thought it was sweet, the way Mother and Father became friends in the course of their marriage through hunting (and yes, Ned knew that nowadays it wasn’t just hunting they did in the woods).

Yesterday had been Queen Rhaella’s name day. 

The queen seemed lonely, so Prince Rhaegar had arranged for a feast for her name day. All the lords paramount and their families were attending. The whole affair, Ned thought, had been full of pastries and patented Arbor wine and politicking. 

Brandon had been in his element, possibly the man with the highest count of dances that night. Lyanna had been so bored and in the midst of her boredom became friends with Lady Cersei. Benjen had been ushered with the other kids to play with Prince Viserys.

And Ned – 

“You’re so red,” Lady Ashara had told him over apple tarts. She was some years older than Ned’s twenty, and her eyes and voice seemed to be always touched by laughter, and she had a loud clear voice, and she had so many thoughts about Mother’s books and Wenda the White Fawn’s manifestos.

“It’s the heat,” Ned had said, a bit helplessly. He really liked Lady Ashara. Brandon would’ve had some brilliant remark at the ready.

From Ned’s other side, Jaime Lannister had said, “That’s because he’s a northerner. You’ve got snow even in the summers, haven’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what will help?” Jaime Lannister had casually leaned his forearm on the table, near Ned’s hand. “Sweat is a way of the body to regulate temperature. I know this, because I play tennis. You just need to sweat it out, Stark.”

“Right,” Ned had said.

Jaime Lannister had seemed to take this as encouragement. “All right, let’s go. Are you left-handed or right-handed? Let me see your palm. Come on, I want to see your span, Stark.” And off he’d gone nattering on about all sorts of sports jargon. Ned had had the feeling that Jaime Lannister was the sort of person who kept sports posters.

So Ned had sat there with his palm up as Jaime Lannister stroked and pulled and examined, and as Lady Ashara had peered interestedly and at one point had remarked that Ned had long fingers, and _dear gods what are southron people_. 

When Robert had popped by their table, asking him if he would like to have drinks with some mates, Ned had nearly leapt up with relief.

He was used to being friends with popular people, like Robert and Brandon and Lyanna. That night as Robert had put his arm around Ned’s shoulders and they’d left the castle for Robert’s flat with Brandon and Lady Catelyn and a few other people, Ned had thought that the night would take a turn for the better.

It had.

The morning after, though – well. How to describe that?

*

“So you want to date a girl, but you do not want to fuck her on the date,” Cersei Lannister clarified. 

When Ned only continued sipping his iced coffee, she made a disgusted noise and promptly polished off her own coffee with surprising swiftness and with no slurping sound at all.

“Oh, no, let me rephrase,” she said. “You have conflicting feelings about dating this girl. Let me think. Is she betrothed?”

“Yes,” Ned gritted out.

“What a shame.” Cersei Lannister smirked at him. “Well. Betrothed is not married. Oh – wait. You do not want to settle for a fuck. So – you must want to marry her yourself. Well, that really is a shame.”

“Right, so what’s it to you?” Ned was doing his best to stay patient here.

Cersei Lannister’s shrug was an elegant satiny ripple. “Nothing. It is not harmful to me, either. So I want to see you get what you want. Except you want marriage. I would settle for a fuck.”

“I’m not, like, an adulterer.”

“Betrothed is not married.”

Ned did his best not to put his head on his hands. “Broken betrothals are offensive.”

“It depends on the case, you know.”

Ned groaned. “Why are you even talking to me?”

“Rude. But I will forgive that.” Cersei Lannister put a hand over what must be her heart. The smile on her face was too sweet to be anything but mocking. “I was touched by our earlier conversation, the one about our place in our families, mind. So I will help you –”

“Listen, I don’t need your help. No offense meant but it’s not something to be undone.”

“Will you listen to me first, you unimaginative idiot?” Cersei Lannister snapped.

“I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m telling you, she’s betrothed.” _And he’s my brother, the heir to Winterfell._

But Cersei Lannister persisted. “Did I say anything about doing illegal activities? No. I will help you. Then in return, you will play tennis with Jaime.”

“What?”

“Because he has been moping, the poor thing.” Cersei Lannister shuffled closer to Ned on the pavement, so he could clearly see the alarming gleam in her green eyes. “That is the only payment I ask of you. Play tennis with my twin. And play well. Jaime loves a good match.”

_What the fuck?_

Cersei Lannister grinned. Her mane of golden curls trembled in the breeze. “I see the deal is too good to have rendered you speechless, Stark.”

He debated whether to edge away from her, even surreptitiously, but decided against it. “That’s not it,” he finally managed to say.

“Watch your mouth. Now, if you could just tell me about the girl’s betrothed.”


End file.
